


Damaged Wings and Other Things

by kradarua



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 09:37:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6369712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kradarua/pseuds/kradarua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Between his run-in with the Darkness and Lucifer wearing him as a prom dress, Castiel is left with damaged wings and a damaged psyche. Dean must find a way to make Castiel understand that he is more than just another weapon in the Winchester arsenal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damaged Wings and Other Things

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by a lovely piece of art by [Nonexistenz](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonexistenz/pseuds/Nonexistenz) called [Damaged Wings and Other Things](/works/6360913).
> 
> Thank you so much for the wonderful art, I hope I did your work some justice! Also thank you to my beta blondebadwolf for making sure my writing isn't crazy. 
> 
> Enjoy!

It was easy to forget that Castiel was an ancient, powerful Angel of the Lord squished into the comparably quite small human form of the late Jimmy Novak. 

Well, Dean never truly _forgot_ ; even without his magical powers and extensive knowledge about the happenings of several millennia, Cas’ teleportation was more than enough of a giveaway that he was beyond human. 

Even so, it had been years since Dean had stood across from the cold, calculating version of Castiel in that barn. So much time spent with the Winchesters had made Cas malleable, each new human experience molding him (usually for the better) away from his original staunch loyalty to his orders or mission. And of course, Castiel _looked_ perfectly human, if not a little awkward, so it made sense to Dean that he thought of Cas less as an angel and more as a sort of…juiced-up companion. 

Which is why it was so disarming to see Cas’ wings shifting and fluttering behind him. 

“What….the hell?” 

Castiel looked somewhat sheepishly back at the brothers from his place at the top of the stairs. Dean guessed his face probably mirrored Sam’s ridiculous expression, which was somewhere between awed and concerned. 

“Cas, are—are those your _wings_?” Sam spoke up, finally. 

Cas had only ever revealed his wings—sort of—at the peak of battle, the great shadowy outlines arching away from him in a threatening display of dominance and aggression. It didn’t surprise Dean that other creatures turned tail at the sight of them. But this was different; the shadows behind Cas kept coming in and out of focus, sometimes clear enough to make out a few of the outermost primary feathers, and other times mostly resembling transparent amorphous blobs that shifted around as he moved. 

“Yes,” Castiel replied, starting down the steps to meet them. His wings trailed behind him, casting brief shadows over the stairs and wall.   “Being Lucifer’s…’prom dress’, as you say, has taken a toll on my grace. I’m…having some difficulty keeping my wings out of sight.” He reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped. Behind him, his left wing twitched and pulled around, leaving his left side shrouded in a slight shadow. If Dean didn’t know better, he’d say Cas was covering himself self-consciously. 

Dean cleared his throat. “Well Cas, uh, your room is still open to you of course. Rest up, buddy, you’ll bounce back.” 

“And let us know if there’s something we could do to help,” Sam added. 

Cas nodded and moved past Dean towards the hallway. “Thank you, Dean, Sam.” 

Dean clapped a hand against Castiel’s trench coat as he went by, before heading towards the kitchen and calling over his shoulder to see if Sam wanted another beer. 

— 

It took some getting used to, but over the next few weeks, Cas’ wings became a familiar presence. They usually didn’t directly get in the way of anything; most of the time the shadowy outlines fell straight through anything they touched. Despite this, sometimes Cas’ wings would cast shadows over a pot or book, or a stack of loose papers, and Dean would jolt as if to catch the falling object that wasn’t actually falling. 

There had, however, been a few instances where the wings were ultimately inconvenient. 

First, there had been that time in the Impala; Dean and Sam had been on their way to Wyoming after some pleading from another hunter who sounded like he was way in over his head. Dean had insisted that Cas stay behind because “You need to get your mojo back, man,” and Castiel had reluctantly agreed to stay after Sam suggested that he do more research on anything that might help them put the Darkness away. 

The sky had darkened and Dean felt the usual tension he carried with him fall away as Baby rumbled down the road, crooning familiar songs up at him through her speakers. Sam dozed in the passenger seat, and the world felt peaceful for a brief moment. 

The moment was abruptly interrupted when Dean’s vision was almost entirely obstructed by thick obsidian feathers. His heart leapt into his throat at the sudden loss of sight, and his hands slipped on the wheel, pulling Baby harshly to the left before Dean corrected the motion and continued to a clumsy stop off the side of the road. There was a great rustling sound as Dean fumbled for the door handle, his fingers slipping through Cas’ suddenly very tangible wings. He all but fell out of the car, and Sam came stumbling around from the passenger side, spluttering a feather out of his mouth. 

Castiel had appeared next to the Impala by the time Dean had gotten over the shock, and his great wings twitched anxiously behind him. Dean wasted no time channeling his adrenaline into frustration. 

“Cas, what the hell, man?! I could have driven Baby into a ditch!” 

“I apologize,” Castiel replied gruffly, rolling his shoulder and looking quite irritated. “I didn’t realize using my grace to teleport would be so draining.” Behind him, his wings twitched and jumped before stretching carefully outwards, and Cas winced as the joints popped. “It would seem that the tangibility of my wings changes as my grace waxes and wanes.” 

Completely unobstructed, his wings truly were impressive. Each wing looked like it could easily span several feet outwards, and perhaps black wings should have been evil looking, but the inky darkness of them seemed all-encompassing in the most comforting of ways. Dean supposed if anybody was going to make infinite black seem soothing, it would be an angel. He felt the fight drain from him, and he huffed out a sigh. Next to him, Sam was still rubbing the sleep and confusion from his eyes. 

“It’s…it’s fine. Just—what did you need?” 

Cas had come to inform them of suspicious activity near their destination in Wyoming that suggested Amara was not far away. The conversation ended with Dean thanking Cas for the warning and decreeing that he was strictly to use his cell phone to reach them until his grace was back on track. 

Castiel nodded once more and departed. 

— 

The second awkward encounter with Cas’ wings had happened a few days after their return to the bunker. The three had spent the past forty-eight hours with their faces pressed into books, reading in near silence save for muttered apologies about accidentally kicking someone under the table or asking for another beer. Dean had recently returned from a few hours of sleep, but by now he had gone through so many books that he doubted he could remember which titles he had already checked. The words and pages and articles were all running together to become one long book in his head. Still, he had dutifully resumed his position at the table with a new stack of reading material. 

Castiel was not around; Dean assumed he was either out or resting. Sam had peeled his eyes away from his own book and given a loud yawn, declaring that he was going to take a quick shower to refresh himself. Almost as soon as his footsteps had faded they returned, and Dean looked up to see Sam looking awkward and thoroughly embarrassed. 

“What’s wrong with you? You look like Rio just caught you masturbating to her picture.” 

Dean laughed at his own joke while Sam rolled his eyes in exasperation. 

“No, I uh—“ he coughed awkwardly, “I walked in on Cas in the shower.” 

Dean couldn’t stop the barking laugh that escaped him. “So you saw him in all his angelic glory? I’m surprised you still have both your eyeballs.” 

Sam gave him a disgruntled look. “It was an _accident_.” 

Dean snorted. 

“Dean,” Sam’s tone was serious as he sank back into his chair. “Do you think Cas is, maybe, not telling us how bad Lucifer roughed him up?” 

Dean frowned. “Why would he do that?” 

“I dunno, to keep us from worrying, I guess?” Sam shrugged, and pulled his book closer to himself. 

“Well, what did you see?” Dean couldn’t quite keep the note of worry out of his voice. He knew Cas’ grace was little messed up, but if he was seriously injured, why would he say nothing and suffer in silence? 

“Well, his wings were in this dimension again. From what I understood when I nearly suffocated on a feather—which, by the way, was a horrible way to wake up—his wings show up when his grace is low.” 

“So?” 

“ _So_ , shouldn’t his grace be replenished by now? It’s been a few weeks already.” 

“Sam, he had the freaking _devil_ driving him around. For months. Dude’s probably just tired.” 

“Yeah…yeah maybe you’re right. It’s just—Dean, I could have sworn his wings looked roughed up. I didn’t notice anything before, but they seemed kinda…bedraggled.” 

“ _Bedraggled_?” Dean quirked a brow at the unusual word choice. “Huh.” He returned his eyes to his book but was no longer really reading. “Tell you what, I’ll talk to Cas later, make sure he’s on the up and up.” 

Sam nodded and returned to his work. 

True to his word, Dean had wandered towards Cas’ room after he’d eaten and done the dishes. The door was completely closed, which usually meant Cas was in the middle of a Netflix binge. Dean rapped his fist against the wood a few times. 

“Hey Cas, got a second?” 

In the moment between his question and Cas’ answer, a ridiculous bubble of anxiety formed in Dean’s chest. What if Cas really was suffering? Could Sam and Dean both really just not have noticed? What if it was really bad? 

But then the door opened enough for Cas to peer back at him, and the bubble burst. 

“This…might not be a good time, Dean.” His voice was strained and tired, and though Dean knew better he could have sworn there were dark circles forming under his eyes. The bubble returned and grew. 

“Cas, are you okay? Sam said he thought—I mean, you’d tell us if you were badly hurt, right? I know your grace is a little off-balance right now, but…” He trailed off, making a vague half-hearted gesture with his hand. 

Castiel sighed and closed his eyes before answering. “Lucifer may have…worn me out more than I originally let on. But I will heal, and be ready to fight the Darkness again soon, I assure you.” 

There was a bite to his words, and Dean suddenly felt like Cas was accusing him of something he didn’t know he’d done. He rolled his eyes and nudged a shoulder against the door, pushing it open and stepping inside as he said: “Listen, if we know what’s wrong Sam and I can try to find something to help you out, so just tell me—what’s—uh…” 

The sentence came to a jerky halt as Dean surveyed the room, and promptly lost track of his words. Sooty feathers littered almost every available surface, and several were either severely bent or broken entirely. Castiel stood near the still open door, devoid of his shirt and tie. His wings were wispy shadows that flicked tiredly behind him, although Dean thought he could see several places coming in and out of focus. 

“What—happened in here? Cas, are these yours?” Dean indicated the black tufts all around him. 

Cas looked annoyed but seemed too tired to argue. He shuffled past Dean to sit on his bed. “Yes. It’s part of the healing process, no cause for concern.” He was sitting up straight like he usually did, but it wasn’t with the same effortless ease. He swayed slightly, and Dean could see his shoulders shaking with the effort. 

“Bullshit,” Dean retorted. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s clearly wearing you down. And that’s concerning because angels aren’t _supposed_ to wear down.” 

“I told you, _Dean_ , I’ll be just fine with time.” 

He’d heard his name leave Cas’ mouth in many variations, but this cold, biting snarl was not one of them. Dean felt his frustration rise; he’d never had the ability to gently coax a person into giving him information, the way Sam could. 

“Dammit Cas, just tell me what—“ 

“ _My wings_.” Cas hadn’t yelled, but his voice had smothered Dean’s with an authoritative finality nonetheless. “My wings were injured when Lucifer himself was ripped away from my body. I need time for them to heal, and after that, I will _happily_  be your hammer again.” He didn’t sound happy. His voice was nearly a hiss, and Dean felt horribly guilty for pushing Cas when he was so clearly unwell. 

“What’s—“ he paused to clear his throat, and tried again. “What’s wrong with your wings?” 

Castiel still glowered, but most of the fight seemed to leave him. With a soft rustling, his wings materialized behind him, and his posture slackened with relief. They draped over the covers and spilled onto the floor, the tips reaching just far enough to brush against the dresser near the wall. 

“Can you, uh,” Dean shifted awkwardly towards the bed, “Can you show me where—what’s wrong?” 

Castiel slowly lifted a wing and stretched it out as much as he could within the confines of the room. The last time Dean had seen his wings, it had been dark and from somewhat of a distance. Up close, he could see the rough patches that had fewer feathers and open gashes that leaked blood into the surrounding area. Whenever Cas shifted a few more feathers dropped, and Dean could see that the feathers around the outer edges of his wings were tattered and frayed, some bent at uncomfortable looking angles and others just barely hanging on. 

Dean gulped. He only had enough medical knowledge to survive a non-fatal wound, he didn’t know a damn thing about wings and was certainly not equipped to handle _damaged_ ones. 

“I…maybe one of the lore books has something that can help?” He suggested feebly. Cas just shrugged sullenly, looking at his own lap. 

“Maybe I could at least—“ Dean had reached up to brush along the wing joint, pushing a few errant feathers to the floor, but Castiel abruptly pulled his wing back and folded it down against himself. 

“Don’t do that.” He didn’t look angry, but it was clear that he would not be argued with. Dean’s brow furrowed. 

“I was only trying to help.” 

“I know. Nonetheless, I’d rather you did not touch me that way.” 

Dean was annoyed. He and Cas touched each other _all the time_ , whether by accident or a hand on a shoulder, or feet knocking under the table, or whatever. What was Cas’ problem all of a sudden? He’d clearly done something to make Cas angry at him, but he didn’t know what, and if Cas wasn’t going to share that with him then there was nothing to be done. They had bigger problems, anyway. 

Finally, Dean raised his hands in a gesture of surrender and went back out into the hallway. And if he closed Cas’ door a little harder than was strictly necessary, who had to know. 

— 

The third time Castiel’s wings came into full view was not so much awkward as it was intense. 

Ever since Dean had gone to check on him, they’d been skirting around each other like tetchy cats. Questions were asked only when necessary, answers were given in clipped tones and with the fewest amount of words possible. Meetings in the bunker’s hallways consisted of stony faces and clenched jawlines, or outright denial of one another’s presence. Narrowed gazes followed retreating backs long after they had disappeared through doorways, followed by expressions that might have been apologetic if pride would stop getting in the way. 

The thing that irritated him most, Dean had decided, was that Castiel wasn’t acting any differently towards _Sam_. His anger was unmistakably directed at Dean, as evidenced by the way his warm, relaxed features would tense up and become expressionless whenever Dean joined them. For days Sam said nothing, choosing only to roll his eyes at the change in atmosphere. Eventually, however, his patience ran out. 

“Sammy, you want an egg fried on top of your burger?” 

Dean looked over his shoulder for Sam’s reply, spatula in hand. Sam shook his gaze away from his book momentarily. 

“Hm? Oh, no I’m good,” he said, before hunching over the table again. Dean turned back to the stove with a shrug. 

“Just rabbit food toppings, then. Your loss.” Sam merely snorted. Dean scooped up the lone fried egg from the pan and placed it delicately on top of his own burger. The runny yolk was his favorite part, he didn’t want it to break before his first bite. 

Once Sam’s burger had been appropriately trimmed he brought both plates and two beers over to the table. Sam scooted slightly away from the books and leaned over his plate for his first bite, sparing the ancient texts from the grease. 

Dean waited for his brother’s pleased expression—he made damn good burgers, and he wanted the recognition—before smiling and digging in himself. The egg yolk burst  pleasantly against his tongue and saturated his bite of meat, and he hummed appreciatively. 

“Sam, have you finished with the tome regarding pre-biblical theistic cultures and their—“ 

Castiel had been looking down at the book in his own hands as he came into the room, but his demeanor shifted the instant he noticed Sam was not alone. He didn’t finish his sentence, opting instead to stare coldly at Dean, who was staring just as coldly back. 

Sam glanced between the two of them for a few tense moments. Normally this was where Sam would roll his eyes and then continue as if nothing had happened, but now, he heaved an irritated sigh and slammed the book he had been reading shut. Dean and Castiel both winced at the abuse to the delicate thing. 

“Alright, enough!” Sam stood and gathered his books and food as he continued. “You guys have been acting ridiculous for the last few days. What are you, thirteen-year-old girls?” 

Cas looked down at his feet and Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Sam gestured for him to save it. “I don’t know what happened, but it was probably stupid,” He made his way past Castiel towards the door and exited, turning back around to continue, “So fix it. If you need me I’ll be getting work done.” 

There was a beat of silence once he had gone, and then Dean gave an annoyed sigh and stood to bring his plate to the sink. He set about scrubbing the dish and tried to ask Cas what the hell had been bothering him lately, but his voice felt stuck in his throat. Behind him, Castiel was silent. 

After what felt like hours of silence he swore quietly to himself. This was so stupid; why did it feel so impossible to talk? 

“Look,” he said finally, forcing his vocal cords into action, “I don’t know what I did to piss you off so bad Cas, but can you just be straight with me? Sammy’s right, we can’t go after the Darkness with our—“ his mind flailed about for the right words, and he made a vague gesture with his hands, “team dynamic, or whatever, all out of whack.” 

Castiel seemed to deflate a bit, and the shadows behind him drooped. 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” he sighed at last, “I’m just agitated because…because of my wings. It doesn’t matter.” 

This answer didn’t appease Dean in the slightest; in fact, he felt anger rise in him again. Here he was, manning up and trying to actually talk things out, and Castiel was deflecting as if he hadn’t been giving Dean the silent treatment all week. 

“Alright, you know what?” He turned to fully face Cas now, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. “That’s complete crap, and you know it, I know it, hell _Sam_ knows it. You’ve been looking at me the way Uriel used to, like I’m something on the bottom of your shoe. Just _tell me,_ Cas!” 

His voice had risen with each word, and he was near yelling by the time he was done. Castiel glared back at him, and his wings, which were becoming more and more visible, snapped about sharply behind him. 

“What should I tell you, Dean?” he snarled back. “Should I tell you about all the terrible things Lucifer made my vessel do? Did you want to hear about the things he made me watch inside my own head?” Castiel’s voice was rising too, and his wings were almost completely opaque, but he wasn’t done yet. “Or maybe you’d like to know what Amara had to say to me before I became Lucifer’s vessel.” 

That made Dean pause. “When did you even come in _contact_ with her, Cas? If you met her you wouldn’t even be alive!” 

He wasn’t ready for the immediate chaos. Cas’ wings snapped into focus and whipped outwards roughly, knocking into the nearby storage rack and sending several glass containers smashing to the floor. Wind appeared from nowhere and blew around the small kitchen, and the pots and pans that hung on the wall clattered together noisily. 

“She informed me that I wasn’t worth the effort!” 

It may as well have been a roar. The words bounced off the kitchen walls, vibrated against Dean’s eardrums. The wind died, but Dean hardly noticed. 

“I watched her kill the angel Ambriel. I thought I was next, but she couldn’t be bothered to waste the time.” Cas’ voice was quieter now, more bitter than angry. “She’s right, anyway,” he continued. “I am…expendable.” 

“Cas…” 

“Don’t, Dean,” Cas spoke normally now. “You don’t need to console me. I’ve failed, many times, and I must accept that as a result, my brothers and sisters no longer wish to be associated with me.” 

Dean watched as his wings drooped behind him, fell against his back and shoulders. 

“I’m sorry for projecting my problems onto you, and I apologize for any inconvenience caused by my injuries; please know that I’m healing as fast as I am able. I’m one of your strongest weapons against Amara, and when you need me I want to be ready. And perhaps, if I am to lose my life to her in the process,” Castiel paused, turning and making to leave the room, “I can do so feeling like I was worth something.” 

Dean should have said something. He should have grabbed Cas by the shoulder, turned him around and talked himself hoarse until Cas understood how crazy it was to think he was worthless. He _had_ to know he wasn’t just another convenient tool in Baby’s trunk, something to throw in the duffle bag if they needed him. 

But clearly he _didn’t_ know, and Dean felt sick to his stomach because he couldn’t remember the last time he had contacted Cas for something besides information or backup. 

Dean said nothing, and Castiel’s great wings trailed out of the room after him. 

— 

The atmosphere between Dean and Castiel remained somewhat tense, but the anger that had previously filled the air between them was no more, replaced instead by pensive, self-loathing silences and guilty staring at turned backs. Sam, at least, seemed more or less convinced that everything was alright again, or if he _did_ notice anything was likely chalking it up to them worrying about the Darkness, or any of the other worries that were constantly present in a hunter’s mind. 

“Yeah, we’ll be there in a few hours. Okay…okay, got it. You too; bye.” 

Sam hung up the phone and turned his attention to Dean. 

“That was Jody; sounds like we were right about the werewolf activity up in Wisconsin. Two of her friends were injured, so she asked us to check in with them after we’ve taken care of things.” 

Dean nodded without taking his eyes off the road. They were still a few hundred miles outside of Wisconsin, and the sun shone brightly above them. He had no worries that they’d arrive in time for the full moon, and even if they didn’t, Cas had gone along before them to set up camp and do some reconnaissance. 

“Why don’t we split the work,” Sam continued after a moment. “I’ll check on Jody’s friends and report to her while you and Cas wait for the werewolf to turn. With any luck, we can be back at the bunker by noon tomorrow.” 

Dean gripped the steering wheel tighter. Sam was right of course, they couldn’t afford to slack on finding Amara. 

“Yeah, okay,” he agreed. 

If Dean were honest with himself, he was being a goddamn coward about it. Anytime he found himself alone with Castiel, he found some excuse to high-tail it out of there. He could barely look Cas in the eye without feeling horrible about all the times he and Sam should have remembered to check on him. Cas had been there for both of them so many times, and they repaid him with…next to nothing. 

He met Castiel at a park across from the suspected werewolf’s house just as the streetlights came to life. They settled on a park bench where they were partially hidden from view by a tree, and Dean took out his binoculars to get a good look at the werewolf. 

“Where’s Sam?” Cas asked. 

“A couple of Jody’s friends were hurt during a run-in with this guy,” Dean answered, keeping his gaze aimed at the bedroom window. “I don’t think they were turned, but Jody asked us to make sure, so Sam is with them at the hospital.” 

Two hours passed in silence, despite Dean’s numerous attempts to grow a pair and think of some concise way to explain to Castiel why Amara’s statement had been utter bullshit. The night air chilled rapidly around them, and Dean cursed himself for not bringing a heavier jacket. He didn’t realize he had been shivering until Cas’ voice cut through the quiet. 

“Dean, if you’re cold, maybe you should warm up in the car.” 

Dean considered it longingly, before ultimately deciding against it. “No,” he answered, trying to keep his teeth from chattering, “there isn’t a good vantage point from the car. I’ll be fine; I just hope this guy transforms soon.” 

A few minutes later found his jaw aching from keeping the chattering at bay, and his fingers felt numb and slow to respond. He set the binoculars in his lap to blow warm air across his fingers briefly. 

Confusion pulled his features into a slight frown when warmth spread across his shoulders and down his back as if someone had draped a heated blanket over him. He turned to ask Castiel what had caused it, but Cas was looking resolutely in the opposite direction. It was hard to tell in the dark, but it looked like the part of Castiel’s face that was still visible was dusted with pink. His right wing (or the shadow of it) twitched gently, and his left wing… 

Dean followed the curve of the shadow and saw that it stretched away from Cas’ back, and curled instead around Dean’s frame. Despite the transparency, the wing sat with a very real, comforting weight around him, and he was certainly grateful for the warmth. Still, he couldn’t keep a flush from his own cheeks as he realized that Cas was doing the angel equivalent of sneaking an arm around the back of his date’s chair. Judging by his pink cheeks, the meaning wasn’t entirely lost on Castiel either. 

Dean chose not to mention it; there was no need to make the gesture awkward, and he didn’t want to risk losing the warmth anyway. A breeze picked up and rustled the leaves around them, and Dean sank further back into his pseudo blanket. He started to bring the binoculars back up to his face, but stopped halfway, sighing to himself and eventually returning them to his lap. 

“Hey, Cas…” 

The wing around him twitched but did not leave him. It felt like Castiel was preparing for some kind of rejection. But Cas deserved to hear that he was important, even if Dean didn’t have a beautifully prepared speech ready. He would just have to run his mouth, and hope for the best. 

“Listen, I,” he paused to clear his throat, “I’m not good at, you know, chick flick moments, and talking about feelings and all that crap, but…well, Amara…” Dean glanced sideways at Cas, who was looking at him, patient but curious. Dean cleared his throat again and gathered his courage. “What Amara said to you was complete bullshit.” 

Cas’ brow furrowed, and he looked confused. “You…think she should have taken the effort to kill me?” 

“No, that’s not what I—“ Dean pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. Christ, the damn apocalypse had been easier than this.  

“Look, you’re—“ Another pause, until finally, “Goddammit Cas, you’re important to me, to all of us, Sam, Claire…” 

Castiel looked like he wasn’t sure if he could believe it. Dean tried again. 

“I don’t just mean as a weapon, or as a freaking Angel of the Lord, or anything like that. Cas, man, you’re important to me, to all of us, as a _person_. I’d still be rotting away in Hell if it weren’t for you, but more importantly, I wouldn’t be the same person if I hadn’t met you. Neither would Sam. And hell, do you know how much closure it must give Claire to still have you around?” 

Now that he had finally, _finally_ gotten started, he couldn’t stop himself. He was working himself up a bit more with each word, but dammit Cas needed to _know_ this. 

“Sam and me, we’re so bad at remembering to care about anyone who isn’t in our immediate vicinity, maybe because it’s so unusual for us to have constants in our lives. But you’re a constant now Cas, just like Jody, and Bobby, and Claire.” Dean paused for breath but didn’t feel brave enough to meet Castiel’s gaze. He gulped and went rambling on. 

“After, uh—when I thought I’d left you in Purgatory…I was a wreck, I….I missed you…” The last words were barely a mumble, and Dean felt like his cheeks were on fire. 

“Dean…” 

“No, Cas, listen—I’ve spent my whole life hating myself for my mistakes okay, I know what it feels like. And you, you don’t deserve…you deserve to know how important you are to all of us, to…to me.” 

“…Do you really mean that? I’m…important to you?” 

Dean’s voice rose once more with renewed courage. “Of course I mean it! You said we have a—a profound bond, and I _feel_ it, man. You pulled me from Hell, you pieced my sorry ass back together so many times even though I didn’t deserve it, how could you think you’re expendable? All the times I’ve thought you were dead, it _ruined_ me, and when you talked about dying to help stop the Darkness, I just…fuck, if you were gone, Cas—“ 

He was startled into silence by the hysterical crack in his voice. His eyes felt prickly like he was about to cry, and goddammit he hadn’t meant to be such a drama queen about this. 

He felt Cas’ wing tug tighter around him, and a hand pressed against his shoulder, encouraging him to turn and meet Cas’ gaze. He did, slowly, feeling rather raw after opening up so much to someone besides Sam. 

Castiel’s eyes were brighter than Dean had seen them in a long time, and his mouth twitched like he was containing a smile. 

_Cas deserved to know how important he was._

Before he could stop himself, Dean had placed a hand against Cas’ jaw and plunged forward, catching Castiel’s pink mouth insistently with his own. He kept himself pressed against Cas until he needed to breathe, and when he pulled away Cas wore an amazed expression. He brought his own hand up to cover Dean’s and leaned into the touch gratefully. 

“Dean…” he whispered, his breath clashing with the cold air in a wispy puff, “Thank you.” Cas came closer again and pressed soft kiss after soft kiss against Dean’s mouth. 

Dean felt his heart race, but without warning, Castiel pulled abruptly away. Dean opened his eyes to find Cas staring hard at the werewolf’s house. 

“Dean, look.” Dean brought the binoculars back to his eyes and watched as the man turned feral, smashing his bedroom window and descending to the ground. 

They rose at the same time, Dean drawing a silver dagger and Castiel sliding his angel blade out from inside his sleeve. 

“Showtime,” Dean said with a smile. There would be time for more kisses later. 


End file.
